Technicolor
by misssun1
Summary: The Tetrawizard tournament; three schools and an assortment of shadow mages must compete in deadly challenges in order to bring shadow magic to the wizarding world. But there are darker undercurrents that threaten the return to a modern era and the world.
1. Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh

**Attention:** This is an **M** rated story. It is rated this way for a reason. There will be inappropriate language, nudity, mentions of sex and homosexuality, and general yami-ness. I do not own the rights to Yugioh, Harry Potter or anything affiliated with these franchises. I hope you don't mind how long it is. I love long chapters, so yeah, you won't be getting a chapter unless its about this long. This is my first Harry Potter/Yugioh crossover and I'd love to hear feedback. But for now, sit back, relax, and enjoy.

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><p>Stories such as this have been told many times throughout history. They are not always recognized as the same, but each bears a common thread, spanning back to the beginning of mankind. We will not be going that far back, though. Our story take place during the glorious day of October 30th in the year 1994. However, this day is unlike others; today is the day students of three different magic schools will learn of the existence of another, lesser known form of magic. Shadow Magic. They will be encouraged to accept these strange competitors as if they were normal children and treat them with the respect and awe that they deserve. They have not been informed that none of these mages are fully human, nor do they know what sort of powers they posses. And with that charming set-up, our story begins with a heroic young Harry Potter looking out the window to see the arrivals of the competitors for the Tetrawizard tournament.<p>

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><p>Harry sighed as he began to step away from the window. With the mysterious new guests' arrivals, this year would not doubt be interesting, to say the least. The problem was, was interesting really that great? Each 'interesting' year in which he had attended at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he had been forced to face his arch-nemesis in fights to the death or near death, in the case of Voldemort. It was unlikely that this year would pose much of a different routine. In fact, sometimes he knew that he would give the world just to be like a normal student for a day. To have a mother and father, to be average at magic, to not be exalted every waking moment of the day as 'the Boy Who Lived'. A gasp from Ron suddenly snapped him from his inner turmoil and caused him to glance over at his friend with curious green eyes. "What? What is it Ron?"<p>

The red head grabbed him by collar, pulling them cheek-to-cheek, and forced him to look out the window. "L-Look at that! What the bloody hell is _that_?" He squeaked nervously, pointing a trembling finger at the sky.

Harry's green eyes widened as they were ensnared by the subject seizing all of the students' attention. Nervous questions flew around the crowd at the speed of a raging dragon, because no one knew exactly _what_ that roiling blob of darkness was. Murmurs of the dark arts and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named became the center of conjured theories and questions while the darkness steadily expanded.

The black hole bubbled thickly, shadows bleeding ominously into the grey tinted thunderheads; Hermione leaned forwards out the window to get a better view, all warnings falling on deaf ears. "What is that? It almost looks like a hurricane, but in a concentrated area. Perhaps a bewitched storm?" She mused, only showing curiosity at the sight of the strange phenomenon occurring in front of her eyes.

"Are you mad? T-That is no storm, Hermione!" Ron screeched as he shoved Harry away and waved his arms wildly towards the vortex of shadows.

Suddenly, a blond shock of hair dropped from the pit like a rock. Attached to him was something fluffy and white, seemingly intent on remaining latched firmly to his neck.

"Bakura! Let go now, you pest!" The blond being roared hostilely while large hands desperately tried to free his throat from the clingy lump of white and black.

"This is all your bloody fault! If you hadn't of jumped when I told you not to, we wouldn't be falling, you fucking git!" The white fuzz bellowed back, jerking the blonde's head back and forth in a break-neck motion. "I should let you hit the ground and be squashed like the roach you are, you damned demon! What the hell were you thinking?"

"You wouldn't dare! You'd be charged for murder and you'd never get into the competition." The blond retorted as he flipped his companion onto his back. "Now get us back into the shadow realm before we both die!"

"You just dropped us in a bloody bad spot! I need darkness to open up the portal! I told you not to jump!" The white haired man wailed, before turning towards the ground and stretching out a hand in concentration.

A few girls shrieked as the two neared the ground and Hermione paled as she fumbled to pull out her wand. With a sharp wave on the white blob's part, a small shadowy vortex in the exact shape of the duo's shadows cracked the ground beneath the two, saving them from a quick and sloppy demise. It instantly disappeared along with the vanishing of the men and their shadows, and the shadow vortex mysteriously suspended in the sky slowly dissipated without leaving any evidence of its brief existence.

The students were silent, staring in awe at the now innocent looking clouds and ground.

"Well that was interesting." Harry remarked bluntly.

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><p>"And finally, coming from the farthest reaches of our world, we have earned the right to dine with the finest Shadow Mages in all of Japan, England, and Egypt!" Dumbledore cried as the door burst open with a resounding crash.<p>

All students leaned forwards in their seats to get the best view of the newcomers. The entry hall was steeped in impenetrable blackness, no sounds resonating from within the simmering shadows. Nervous murmurs bubbled rapidly throughout the Great hall as a minute dragged by and not a soul passed through the shadowy void. "Where are they?" Hermione breathed, her face pale in anticipation.

An echoing roar sounded, instantly bringing an end to the suffocating silence. In a flash of ruby and silver, an immeasurably large dragon crashed through the portal in a violent storm. Boys and girls screamed shrilly as the dragon snaked above the rows and suddenly began to drop. It landed with a reverberating thunderclap, its shimmering body taking up the entirety of free space and then some, shoving most students against their tables even while its entire back end stretched deep into the silent shadows. As the hall quieted and the dragon's head settled in front of the teacher's table, a mad chuckling sharply penetrated the students' shocked minds and dragged their eyes the blond lazing above cat-like golden eyes. "Mortals. Bow down before the awesome power of the Shadow Realm." He cackled wildly.

Students were forced to double take. White-blond hair was pulled back into a low ponytail; the color proving to be a stark contrast to his deeply tanned muscular body. Perhaps even more eerie were his eyes, the color of the shadows from the strange vortex he had fallen through earlier in the day.

"I-Is that r-really a d-d-dragon?" Someone squeaked as they tried to scoot further away from the enormous creature.

A snort sounded from within the shadows as another man slithered into the Great Hall, arms crossed and dark eyes passing disdainfully over the awed students. "Tch. You are such an over-dramatic idiot, tomb keeper. I don't even know why Dumbledore would ask you to come. You're nothing but a useless megalomaniac who doesn't even think before he acts." The white-haired man spat as he sauntered down the dragon's ridged back. It hissed and bucked slightly beneath him, nearly whipping him into a student table: he snorted as he quickly regained his balance and stomped irately on the creature, tendrils of shadows encasing his foot. The dragon let out a screech of pain and quieted slowly, not making a move to retaliate. The intimidating man had tan skin to match the dragon master, but his was paired with a short mop of unruly white hair and ashy eyes that sparkled wickedly like multi-faceted gems in the dim lighting of the hall while he surveyed the room in barely controlled insanity. "Stop trying to awe these impressionable children with your flashy magician's tricks."

"Where'd you suppose he got that nasty scar on his face from?" Ron asked in a soft voice.

Harry shushed him quickly, eyes glued intently to the confrontation before him.

The blond hissed through his teeth before flapping a hand in dismissal. The dragon disappeared into a black mist with a threatening roar, dropping the two down to the level of the students. "Parasitic thief; go bug the pharaoh." He ordered, darkness oozing threateningly from his fingertips. "You aren't wanted here." A loud sneeze instantly distorted his features, but he managed to regain his glare in record time.

"Make me." The white-haired man spat mockingly, hands exploding violently with eager shadows. As the two began to storm towards each other with muscular arms prepped to eagerly release magically enhanced punches, a booming voice brought their disagreement to a grudging close.

"Stop this nonsense now, Marik, Bakura. You are giving a bad impression to our kind hosts." A third man said as he stepped out of the wall of shadows, causing murmurs of surprise and disgust to sweep through the hall like a tidal wave. This man was the epitaph of strange. His hair was a stylist's worst nightmare; it was roughly divided into three colors, and jabbed high into the air in fat spikes that were nearly the length of his arms. Paired with crimson eyes and tanned skin, it looked as if nothing about him was natural. He walked down the center of the Great Hall and showily shoved the bickering mages away from each other, before continuing up to the teacher's table. He executed a perfectly performed bow before Dumbledore as he apologized, "I apologize if our actions have offended you and your students, Headmaster Dumbledore. These two seem to believe that their powers give them the automatic prerogative to be rude guests."

Both Bakura and Marik shot similar scathing glares at the man's back as he straightened from his elegant bow. "Stop being such a bloody suck up, pharaoh. You make it sound like you have a job as a diplomat or something. I work as a bodyguard and Marik's probably a bouncer with how he looks. What do you do all day? Give blowjobs to Yugi's grandpa whenever he needs to jack off, because he has arthritis in his hands and can't do it himself? Or maybe you work as a cashier at McDonalds." Bakura sneered rudely, quickly shattering the calming atmosphere the shortest man had attempted to implement.

The pharaoh whirled around, murder blatantly evident in his blood red eyes. "Die, foul cretin." He hissed, easily discarding previous reservations about harming his unwanted companions and discharging a streamlined projectile of shadows.

Bakura merely smirked and languidly outstretched his arms. "I'm willing to take the shot for being successful." He taunted before the malignant magic exploded across his chest. His sturdy body was flipped back instantly, slamming against the opposite wall with a sickly thud.

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth as Ron and Harry paled. "Did his back just break?"

The white-haired yami slowly staggered to his feet, a snicker building up in his chest, before erupting out as a full-blown cackle. After a moment, he wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. "Ah pharaoh. You never cease to amuse me. I'm quite surprised that you actually had the balls to assault me. Weren't you under the impression that our shadow magic poisoned those around us? And you just shot a highly concentrated dosage right across these darling children's noses. Shame on you."

"Be silenced, tomb robber!" The pharaoh panted in overexertion from the magic. "You are creating a bad impression for our kind hosts."

"Now, now, Pharaoh-sama. I hate the tomb robber as much as the next, but you have to give me something to work with here. Saying that we are being rude is not going to stop either of us from starting chaos."

"Let them work it out. Eventually they'll run out of steam." Dumbledore placated mysteriously at McGonagall's expectant glare.

"What is of your problem? I should have just let you smash into the ground when we were falling!"

"At least my hair doesn't give little kids nightmares."

"Oh shut up, pharaoh. We weren't even talking to you."

"Have you even looked at yourself in the mirror?"

"Do you have a _problem_ with my hair?"

"Just go back to dying from doing a tiny piece of magic and let the _real_ shadow mages settle this spat."

"How _dare_ you impugn my honor like that!"

"What are you gonna do about it? Poke him?"

"You're even more pathetic than before."

"You insufferable pr—"

A new voice bluntly interrupted the childish argument, "Why don't you all shut up and sit down where you're supposed to! No one cares about your lovers spats and we want to eat!" A few of the braver students chorused in agreement.

Six eyes, three of which were twitching with barely repressed rage, turned to glare at the blonde ringleader. "Don't you dare associate me with those disgusting bastards!"

"Hey, I shouldn't be included in that statement! I live over in Japan." Red eyes shifted slyly to Bakura. "I've heard that you have been spending a lot of time in Egypt, Bakura. Perhaps with the tomb keeper?" The blonde sat down with a groan of disgust and cradled her head in her hands.

The thief snarled as he tackled the pharaoh to the ground, glowing fist raised behind his head. "This will feel so damn good." The smaller man struggled to get free, but his arms were pinned by Bakura's knees. The tightly curled fist flew down, smashing into the stone mere inches to the left of the pharaoh's face. Atem slowly opened his eyes, and instantly tried to suppress the slight quiver of his lips "I'm not here to start petty brawls with you disgusting brats. I'm here to win." Bakura hissed, before standing up and walking towards the table. He allowed the sleeves of his cloak to drop over his fist so he could shake it in an attempt to relieve the pain while still retaining his dignity. "When you fools are ready to grow up and shut up, you may sit down as well. Do _not_ sit near me."

The pharaoh let out a sigh of relief, before extending a hand to Marik. "Help me up." He commanded.

"You can get your own holy head up here, Atem." Marik scoffed scornfully.

A disgusted sigh escaped Atem's lips as he stumbled to his feet in a manner completely undignified for a son of Osiris. "You are such an irritating fool."

"Look whose talking. Did you wet your pants after that punch?" The tomb keeper cackled derisively, before sauntering over to the round table. Atem quickly glanced down at his pants before frowning and jogging towards the table.

"Stop interrupting, and get your asses sat down. Now!" Bakura barked, stabbing a bent fork towards them.

Marik rolled his eyes. "Who died and made you my mom?" A cruel grin cracked across his lips. "Besides creator's mother."

"Do not disrespect your creator's parents in such a manner. They are your parents as well." Atem snapped sharply, sliding into the seat to the left of Bakura and hefting it as far away as possible.

"No. They're _creator's_ good for nothing parents. Not mine." Marik dismissed dispassionately as he sat to the right of the thief and scooted within an arm's distance, a demented smile still in place on his face. "You wanna know what I recently noticed, Thief?"

"You noticed that I think you're a waste of space and air and would enjoy it very much if your tongue was stabbed out with a spork by one of these preschoolers?" Bakura retorted bluntly, eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

Atem snorted, but the blond brushed it off with an extravagant gesture towards the pharaoh. "I think our precious Pharaoh is missing something. Something kinda… important. Something shiny and golden and pointed and magical."

Stony eyes widened in realization as he scanned the smaller man's body, ignoring his defensive bristling. "What the fu—"

"Exactly." Marik interrupted with a nod, his eyes crinkled from his crazed grin. "I'm thinking we have some ques—"

"Your attention please! I'd like to say a few words." Dumbledore stated as he walked up to an extremely ornate pillar. Bakura leaned back in his seat, edgily toying with the sharp tongs of his millennium item. Marik was grudgingly silenced, along with the rest of the students in the hall. "Eternal glory. That is what awaits for the student who wins the Tetrawizard tournament. But to do that, they must survive three tasks; three grueling, deadly tasks. In that light, the ministry has decided to impose a new rule on the tournament. To explain all of this, we have the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Mister Bartemius Crouch."

A loud clap of thunder interrupted his proud march to the front of the room as the furious storm clouds rushed to cover the ceiling. Heavy rain poured down in fat drops as lightning flashed ominously. Students shrieked in shock as they vainly attempted to protect their heads from the icy water. Marik sniffled and sneezed once more, blatantly wiping his dripping nose across his robed arm.

"I could have done that." Bakura scoffed under his breath as he held a plate defensively over his head, before the ragged heavy-set blond who had caused the disruption shot a bolt of red lightning at the frenzied storm clouds. The rain and clouds slowly dissipated to reveal an innocuously starry sky.

"What do you believe happened to his eye?" Atem hissed to the others, who simply ignored him.

"My dear old friend, thank you for coming." Dumbledore whispered, shaking the gruff man's scarred hand and giving him a half hug in greeting.

"Stupid ceiling." The man grumbled, before shuffling awkwardly behind the shadow of a pillar.

Bakura's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he watched the edgy man, lowering the golden plate slowly. "He's a snake." He growled softly, lips curled in distrust.

"I thought you would be all for someone who causes chaos." The pharaoh sneered, annoyed at being ignored by a lowly tomb keeper and a common thief. "That's what thieves live for, am I correct?"

The tomb robber didn't change his position an inch; the only indication of hearing the snide remark was the slightest twitch of his lips. "He can do whatever as long as he doesn't interfere with my victory of the tournament."

"You don't even know if you will get in!"

"Shut up!" Marik snarled darkly, "None of us will," a sniffle broke through his retort as he wiped his nose once more, "get in if we don't listen to entry rules." Bartemius walked to the center of the room, directly in front of the shadow mages' table.

"You are the spawn of Malik. It is doubtful that any of his few good qualities passed to you. So I find myself asking, when have you _ever_ followed any rules?" Atem demanded softly, keeping his eyes trained on the ministry official's back. The man stretched his arms out and began to speak.

Bakura crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair rigidly. "'Battle City' ring any bells?"

Irate purple eyes flickered sharply to his fellow mages. "You have to know the rules to know how to cheat them. Now shut up!"

"—Of 17 will be allowed to put their name in the goblet for consideration of entering the Tetrawizard tournament. This decision is—" Bartemius's voice was completely eclipsed by the outraged clamor of the students present in the Great Hall.

Marik faced to the others. "Now we don't know if it's older or younger than 17, imbeciles."

Atem gestured to the protesting crowd lazily. "Judging by the cries of the children, the rules most likely state that only students over 17 are allowed. Stop whining."

"We don't know that for sure." The blond persisted stubbornly, trying to work through his clogged sinuses. "I told you to shut up, and neither of you bastards listened!"

The pharaoh slammed his hands against the table furiously. "How dare you even insinuate that my father was even remotely similar to the tomb robber's good for-nothing, lay-about, worthless, non-existent father. My father was a good man, and his soul rests peacefully in the after-life with all of the other great pharaoh's of the past."

"My _father _was killed by your father and his ill planned attempt to 'save' Egypt. It's useless to try and make that an insult because he was a good man who sacrificed himself to save my life." Bakura snapped, before irately clearing his throat and switching back to the topic at hand. "Unless you two stooges actually did research on the school, we don't know how old the students that go here are. It could swing either way. We just need to—"

"Silence!" Dumbledore yelled, before making the golden column slowly evaporate with a wave of his wand. All that remained was a stone goblet that had been hidden in the center. Blue fire suddenly began to spit from its core. "—Ask the faculty." Bakura completed in a whisper, as his eyes glinted greedily in the glow of the sapphire flames. "The Goblet of Fire. Anyone wishing to participate need only to write their name on a sheet of parchment and drop it in the flames before this hour on Thursday night. But be warned, these tasks are not for the faint of heart. If chosen, there's no turning back." He paused, eyes shifting to each school in turn. "As of this moment, the Tetrawizard tournament has begun." He glanced back at the table of teachers, none of who seemed to feel the pressing need to add anything. "You are now dismissed to your dorms. For those of you in foreign schools, your headmaster shall escort you back to your sleeping quarters."

The three shadow mages instantly stood up and leaned into the center of their small table. It was quiet for a long moment as they stared each other down.

"I suppose we are all going to enter." Atem stated in a dangerous whisper, eyes filled with steely determination.

Bakura nodded curtly. "I suppose we are."

Marik supported himself against the table, biceps bulging. "Are you sure you want to compete against me? I can promise you won't last long." He suddenly sneezed, nearly banging his head against the table.

Twin snorts sounded from the other mages. "Ask the pharaoh that. Now that I'm out of host's body, I could take both of you on at the same time and _win_, without resorting to shadow magic once."

The pharaoh's laughter instantly died out. "Remember that this goblet judges does not judge on outside appearance." He reminded angrily. "I suppose you _peasants_ would like a democratic vote on who shall enter, am I correct?"

"There's nothing to vote on, _Son of Osiris_. We'd all just vote for ourselves, no questions asked." Marik argued, a lazy smile passing beneath his eyes. "Even with my Millennium Rod, as long as you are still even remotely under the influence of your Millennium items, I can't control you to vote for me. And I don't believe that unstoppable mind control is covered by either of your items or normal shadow magic."

Bakura backed away from the table, making sure that his stony eyes cautiously remained focused on the other well-practiced shadow mages. "Posture later. I need to go and find my room now, since I'm going to ask the teachers about that and the rules before they all return to their own rooms."

A bony finger tapped his shoulder impatiently. "Are you three hooligans finished with your 'conference'? I have been assigned to guide you to your room."

The thief barely suppressed a strangled yelp as he whirled around, hands sparkling with defending shadows. Marik's amusement didn't even pique at the sound, his violet eyes narrowed suspiciously at the foreboding staff member. Atem handled the situation with more grace as he shook the man's hand regally. "A pleasure. I am Muto Atem. And these are thief Bakura and tomb keeper Ishtar Marik."

"Charmed." The man drawled as he removed his hand disdainfully. "Follow me."

Bakura lifted his head imperiously as the magic surrounding his hands faded, and he somehow managed to more than make up for his previously flustered appearance. "Did you say _room_?"

"What of it?" The black haired man sneered, annoyed at the delay.

"We don't get along well." Marik stated icily, sending flickering glares at his companions. He gave in and wiped his nose with his sleeve. "We've had past run-ins with each other and they've been… explosive."

A thick eyebrow rose incredulously. "Do you think I care? You are all here for one reason and one reason alone; to participate in the… _Tetra_wizard tournament. I could honestly care less as to what you do to each other in your free time."

Atem turned to the two. "We _will_ make do. I can promise you that I will make sure of it." He hissed, before facing the black-haired man once more. "I am sorry about their ungracious attitudes, we truly appreciate the opportunity to stay inside one of your distinguished dormitories. Now lead the way."

The man looked tempted to roll his eyes, but managed to retain his composure as he walked through the double doors. "Memorize this route. There will be no one leading you after this time."

Marik quickened his stride so he was keeping pace with the guide. "Did the ministry official say you had to be above or below seventeen to enter the tournament?"

"Above." The man replied dryly, shooting a short questing glance at Atem's face. The petit pharaoh, however, was smirking arrogantly at up Marik.

"Looks like you are not allowed to enter, little boy." He gloated gleefully, a broad smile spreading mockingly across his face.

Marik snatched a chunky spike of hair and pulled him towards him. "Shut-up." He growled, as his other hand grabbed Atem's skinny throat. "If you're dead, it doesn't matter if you're allowed to enter this competition or not." His grip on the pharaoh faded and the yami pulled away, stepping to the space furthest from Marik.

"How long are we staying here?" A petulant Bakura demanded.

"The rest of these damned brats' school year." The blond hissed, fingers aching to strangle his companions.

"Tch."

Conversation dispersed as they continued their journey up to their room, with only Marik's occasional sneezes and sniffles breaching the silence that had settled over the four. Higher and higher they climbed until they reached a dimly lit hallway filled only with dusty bricks and rusty iron balconies.

"Looks like home." Bakura and Marik chorused, before glaring darkly at each other.

The greasy-haired man ignored the quip as he stopped in front of a painting of a brutally murdered ballerina. "This is the door to your room. You tell her the password and she will let you in. You may choose your password now."

"Kekewey." Bakura stated bluntly, before Marik or Atem could even begin to open their mouths.

The bony ballerina giggled, stretching her pallid arms over her head. "Sounds foreign. I like it." The painting swung open.

"It should. It's Demotic." He stepped through the door, ignoring the glares of the irate mages following him. The dark man let out an annoyed sigh and stalked away as the painting slammed shut behind him.

Two of the shadow mages were glaring at the third with an intensity that could melt through a solid block of iron. "That man said that _we_ could choose our password. Not you." Atem snarled, his face twisted in fury.

"What's the problem?" Bakura asked airily as he innocuously allowed the fringe of his bangs to cover his eyes so he could avoid meeting the duo's eyes. "Do you dislike the password?"

"Yes." "No." Atem and Marik disagreed simultaneously.

"Then I don't see the problem." Bakura slipped onto the couch and let out a comfortable sigh as he was finally able to slide out from beneath glowers of the unnerving pairs of purple and crimson eyes.

"The problem is that you did not ask me first!" The pharaoh argued as he moved to lean over Bakura. Marik sneezed; both of them ignored it. "You both are required to act subservient in the face of your pharaoh! That means you must consult with _me_ before making any decisions." His brash statement was instantly challenged by the unnaturally blank stares of his companions.

The foolhardy implication of the words cracked through Marik's calm demeanor first. "What?" He hissed, yanking Atem roughly by the arm to face him. "What did you just say?"

A low growl escaped Bakura's lips as he easily slid over the back of the couch to confront the pharaoh. "Who do you think I am; a damned priest?" He demanded, black sparks jumping between his barred fists.

"Did you just call me your _slave_?" Marik rumbled angrily, flashes of shadows erupting across his entire body. "Let me teach you a lesson of the _real_ world, Atem." A sneeze snapped his head forwards, "Gods damn this fucking cold!"

"Let go of me, you disgusting creatures!" Atem snapped, trying to pull out of the blonde's bone crushing hold. "I am your pharaoh! The Son of Osiris, Ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt, and the Controller and Destroyer of the Shadows. And what are you, but merely a lowly tomb thief and tomb keeper!" He didn't notice the dangerous bristling of his companions, so caught up in his outraged rant. "You creatures should be praising the gods above and below that you are even permitted to bask in my glorious presence."

"You don't have anyone to save you now, pharaoh. I would've destroyed you earlier if we hadn't of been in front of the headmasters!" Bakura snarled, grabbing Atem by the neck. "But now," A demented grin spread across his face, "now _no one _can hear you scream!"

"Actually, you are quite wrong about that, my good sir." The entire room froze, save for a single painting. Slowly Bakura released the pharaoh's neck, peeling his hand away finger by agonizing finger.

"Who are you?" Marik hissed, his eyes narrowed into slits of resentment as he glared at the painting of an old man. Muted black sparks were still bubbling on every inch of skin; his irritation increased from his cold taking affect at inopportune moments. "Why are you here?"

The plump man in the painting tsked, wagging a finger patronizingly. "Too many questions, children. I shall answer in good time."

"Answer now!" The tomb keeper screamed, hurling a bolt of shadow magic mere inches to the right of the frame. After a few deep breaths, he calmed down slightly, violet eyes narrowed at the unfazed portrait. With a particularly loud sniffle, he wiped his nose with the damp sleeve, "I have little patience for games, fool. Now answer immediately or face my wrath."

The man chuckled in amusement. "Oh you are such funny little creatures. I've never met a _live_ shadow mage before. All I saw were their skeletons, which were about as interesting as a muggles'." He winked conspiratorially. "Which means not at all. As soon as position for in your room was given, I battled my way through hoards of other less… well-bred portraits to apply for the job." Throwing his arms out jubilantly, he let out a jolly laugh. "And here I am."

Marik slid up to the enchanted painting, tendrils of shadow magic licking the painting savagely. "For every five seconds of my time you waste with your meaningless prattle, I will have a layer of your paint removed. Do you understand?"

"Idiots." Atem snorted as he strode up to the man, shoving past his companions disdainfully before swooping into a low bow before the frame. "My good sir, could you please tell me of your noble intentions within my room?"

Green eyes sparkled with wicked humor as he winked at the other two shadow mages. "This one knows how to manipulate other to gather what he wants. He will go far." Marik sneezed and the portrait's face scrunched up in disgust, "Barbarian."

"Of course I shall." The pharaoh agreed as he snapped out of his bow, unable to remain humble in the face of praise.

"Smart boy. I approve." The painting added as he gave a simpering smile to him, adjusting his waistcoat proudly. "You two rude ones may address me as Lord Gimberfound of Nosgalloway the XVII." He gestured to Atem, a proud smile on his face. "But my fine friend has my permission to call me Lord Berf the XVII."

Atem bowed once more. "My fine Lord Berf XVII, you may call me Pharaoh Atem."

The smile broadened. "A Pharaoh of the shadows? Now this is quite interesting; quite interesting indeed." He turned shot a disdainful glance at the other shadow mages. "I suppose I must listen to _your_ introductions next?"

"That's it," Marik roared, evoking screeches of pleasure from his shadows, "_DIE!_"

A shrill scream escaped Lord Gimberfound of Nosgalloway XVII's lips, before he dove out of the painting in order to save himself. Bakura chuckled darkly as the rest of the portrait exploded in a frenzy of shadows, splattering the room in splinters and glass. "I _was_ just going to throw the couch at that irritating fool and leave, but that works as well, I suppose." He brushed the debris from his cloak carelessly, before shifting his eyes back to the distraught pharaoh. "You're lucky that idiot came by when he did."

"Lucky?" Atem's voice cracked before he straightened abruptly. "I command you to bring him back this instant and apologize, Tomb keeper!"

"Make-Me." The yami over enunciated, baring his teeth to the pharaoh as he lowered himself into a predatory crouch. "I _dare_ you."

Atem's eyes flickered to Bakura nervously as he outstretched shimmering hands in front of his chest. "Where do you fall in this debate, Bakura?" He managed to mostly ignore Marik's phlegmy growl. "Choose wisely."

A disdainful snort preceded Bakura's reply. "What, no Thief? I'm touched." He ran his tongue over plump lips, eyes flickering indecipherably from the firelight. "I'll make a deal. I swear on my honor as a yami that I will fight to the death in this potentially deadly and bloody battle for the one who summons the most powerful creature from the shadow realm." He paused, before smirking. "Well?"

"This won't even be a contest." Marik taunted as he nodded. He noticed the pained look on the pharaoh's face and snickered. "Or is the wittle bitty Son of Osiris afraid of the Shadow Realm after losing his puzzle, for like, the fifteenth time?"

Atem sat up and straightened as if he had been slapped. "For your information, I _left_ the Millennium Puzzle with Yugi because he deserves it after solving the puzzle and giving me a body. And I am not useless without it, and I shall prove it by participating in the Tetrawizard Tournament and winning." He replied through gritted teeth as the blond, once again, wiped his nose against the snotty sleeve.

"Prove it now!" Marik shot back, a mocking grin stretched across his face. He noticed the pharaoh's hesitation and the grin broadened, transforming his eyes into gleeful slits. "Well, come on pharaoh! There's no time like the present!"

"Call forth the shadow realm and summon the Winged Dragon of Ra, oh Son of Osiris." Bakura ordered, granite eyes glinting derisively. "If you can."

Atem pulled his deck from his pocket and slid the Egyptian god card from the top of his deck, causing Marik and Bakura to send each other knowing looks. The shadow mage noticed his companion and his eyes narrowed sharply as he rubbed his thumb along the crisp corner of the card. "What?" He demanded uncomfortably.

"Oh nothing." Bakura excused all too innocently. "It's just that…." He trailed off, the smirk spreading into a scornful grin.

"_True_ shadow mages don't use cards except for during the games. But we understand if you need that added handicap." Marik finished sweetly, his trademark grin not leaving his face. "After all, you don't have your puzzle with you to use as a crutch."

"I just expected more from our most revered Pharaoh-_sama_. After all, you are the child of a god. You shouldn't need to call upon your puzzle's magic to summon your companions." The thief explained, crossing his arms daringly. "Have you become _weak_, Atem?"

Atem gritted his teeth and lifted his head high. "I was just familiarizing myself with Ra's presence. It is not my Ka, after all, so it will take a little more work to summon it."

Marik snorted as the thief sniggered. "_Riight._" A sneeze punctuated the thought.

Atem shoved the card back into his deck with an angry motion before slapping it on his nightstand. He stood and cracked his fingers, closing nervous crimson eyes in preparation. "I'm ready." He murmured softly. The lights began to flicker and dim as a layer of shadows covered everything in the room. The grins on the other yami's faces didn't falter. A bead of sweat dribbled down the side of Atem's face as he lifted his hands into the air. "Arise, Winged Dragon of Ra." He intoned. Another moment passed. Snickers bubbled from the thief and tomb keeper's lips. "Arise!" He cried desperately, throwing his head back.

Slowly, a crack of light split the air in front of Atem nearly blinding the three shadow mages. Both Marik and Bakura had lost their smug smiles as they stepped back, arms covering their eyes. A foot stepped forth from the light, slowly followed by the rest of the form. As the light cleared, the thief and tomb robber sent one look at the creature before breaking into gales of laughter, falling onto the ground in a pile of wiggling limbs. "That's the Winged Dragon of Ra?" Marik shrieked hysterically, before coughing loudly, his face turning purple.

"H-How the m-mighty h-h-have fa-fallen!" Bakura gasped between uproarious laughs. "I-It doesn't e-e-ven _l-look_ like a-a-a dragon!"

The Celtic Guardian frowned disapprovingly as he glanced back at his reddening master. "Me no _supposed_ to be dragon." It grunted irately, as it banged its sword against the ground. "Me guardian of shadow realm. Not ugly chicken with teeth."

Marik continued to cough, beating his chest in a frenzied motion. Finally, a fat glob of phlegm flew from his throat and hit the floor with a wet slap. The blonde scrambled to his feet and smirked as he waved a shadow-covered hand flashily over his head. "Now it's my turn. And I'll summon Melchid the Four-Face Beast. I don't even need a god to beat you, oh Son of Osiris." He slammed the hand against the ground, causing flames of shadow magic to shoot up from the cracks in stone floor. "Obey my commands, Melchid the Four-Face Beast."

Atem frowned as he crossed his arms, face still flushed in embarrassment. "Fine. You win this round, Tomb Keeper." He conceded through gritted teeth as the stronger monster appeared from the floor. "Let us clean up before going to our beds. I do not want to smell either of you." Crimson eyes flickered to the Celtic Guardian. "You may return to your resting place, my loyal friend."

"Not so fast." Marik cackled, waving his monster to attack the warrior. The elf did not even get the chance to turn around before being mercilessly cut down by a burst of fire from the grinning devil mask. "I am fuckin' pissed off at the world tonight and I say its war."

The pharaoh rounded on him, eyes sparking violently. "How dare you assault an opponent in an unprovoked attack from behind! You dishonorable fiend!" The Eye of Horus appeared on his forehead as he struck his typical stance. "Penalty game!" The lights suddenly went out, the only light now being the muffled shine of the Eye of Horus. "Tomb robber." Atem spat angrily, eyes trying to detect even the slightest movement in the sinister darkness. "Come out, thief. I know you're there." A flicker of movement caught his eye and he whirled around suddenly. "I see you!" He crowed confidently, before dropping his mouth open in horror.

A drooling monster chuckled darkly while blinking its red eyes slowly. "Fresh meat." It growled carnivorously. "How _kind_ of the master."

"TOMB ROBBER!" Atem roared. His only reply was in the sound of the shifting creatures in the shadow realm.

* * *

><p>"Why did you do that?" Marik demanded, squirting a fat glob of toothpaste onto his toothbrush with a thoroughly angry squeeze. "I was <em>going<em> to massacre him."

Bakura shrugged, running a wet comb through his knotted hair. "I told you I'd fight for you. And I did. I sent him to the shadow realm by reversing his own penalty game. He lost because of his pride." He laid the brush down on the counter and leaned in towards the mirror, rubbing his face contemplatively. "Do you think I need to shave?"

Violet eyes narrowed in irritation. "Cut the crap and stop making small talk. Both of us know you don't care about my opinion."

"Very true." The tomb robber admitted as he rummaged through an overstuffed duffel bag, throwing superfluous items haphazardly across the floor. "In fact, I absolutely _loathe _you. But I'm not looking for a fight right now; I'm not going to waste my time and energy on a creature like you when I could be planning the most satisfying way to dispose of the pharaoh."

"Ou 'us' ehn ieh ohh uh ahoh ealhm." Came a reply muffled by a mouthful of foamy toothpaste. The brush paused as Marik breathed loudly through his mouth.

Bakura lathered his face quickly with a thick layer of shaving cream. "He'll get out. Regretfully, he has slaves who most likely will find him." He washed the cream from his hands and filled the sink with warm water. "Now where's my razor?" He asked himself, eyes narrowing as he tried to quickly glance through his cluttered area of arbitrary things.

"Unuh uh ahck waf eahuh."

"Huh. You're right." The yami dragged the lime green razor out from beneath a black wife beater. "But how'd you know that?" He demanded as he wet it and began to drag it carefully across his slightly prickly cheeks.

"Aih ah a ooh ehnorie. Aih aw eww uh ih owhn." Marik spat the slobbery mess into the sink and washed it down, leaning over to rinse the residual from his mouth with the sink water. His nose crinkled with disdain as he glanced over at Bakura, a small dribble of pasty water dripping from the corner of his mouth. "Your shaving cream smells nasty."

"No it doesn't." White eyebrows furrowed in irritation as he carefully shaved above his upper lip. "It's Barbasol. It smells manly."

"It smells disgusting. Anyways, why are you shaving your face at night? Shouldn't you shave it tomorrow morning?" Marik demanded as he stacked his toothbrush on top of his toothpaste tube.

Bakura pursed his lips but didn't answer the question, instead leaning closer to the mirror and asking one of his own. "How can you smell? You're sick, remember?"

The blond ignored him, raising an eyebrow as he watched. "There has to be some reason. _Every _man shaves in the morning. Unless he—" A mocking chuckle escaped his lips. "That's not possible! You of all people?"

Bakura clenched the razor tighter as worked to finish shaving as quickly as possible.

"You can't grow a beard." Marik sang mockingly as he began to skip around the room girlishly. "Oh, I'm the Great Demon Bakura, Servant of the Dark Lord Zorc," he sneezed before continuing, "the Immortal Man who is the Epitome of Darkness itself!—And I can't grow a beard! Just like a baby boy!" He stroked the yami's shaven cheek. "Oo. Silky soft; and it'll be as smooth as a baby's bottom for weeks to come."

A can of Barbasol slammed into the absolute center of Marik's forehead with a resounding crack. "If you say another word it'll be a knife next time, Porcupine. You look like you could light a match on your stubble." Bakura snarled, before clearing the last portion of his skin. "And if you even _think_ about breathing a single _word_ of this to the pharaoh…"

Marik scooped up the dented can and sprayed a small streak across the yami's face. "Nope. If I want to talk, I will, little boy."

The tomb robber growled predatorily, pointing the cream covered razor at the tomb keeper. "I will murder you with the razor if you do not stop patronizing me."

"Oh, now you're going all pharaoh-ish on me. Getting a bit flustered, Bah-kuh-rah?" Marik grinned in response to Bakura's growl. "Fine, let's make a deal. If your dick is bigger than mine, I'll forget this ever happened and never mention it again, and you also get bragging rights about your dick. But," The grin broadened, "If yours is smaller than mine, I get to scream out to the world that you have a tiny dick and you can't grow a beard."

Bakura snorted. "Whatever. It's not my fault that you'll have to face this embarrassment." He dropped his baggy jeans and boxers and crossed his arms expectantly. "Well?"

Marik sneezed violently before he chuckled endearingly. "You lose." He unbuttoned his pants and posed proudly before sauntering over to Bakura as he gestured to his penis. "See, I win."

The yami narrowed his eyes as he mentally measured the two against each other. "No you don't. They're the same size." He pulled Marik to his side, bumping bare hips with him. "See?" He looked up expectantly, only to find the blond looking the other way. "Just because you can't admit that I have a bigger dick than you doesn't mean I don't win."

Marik subdued an errant blush as much as he could before looking down. "I suppose they're the same size." He grumbled, before glancing at Bakura's penis once more. "But it just looks that way for you because you don't have much hair down there."

Bakura hissed irately, "You—"

"MARIK! BAKURA!" A familiar voice yelled furiously.

The blond blushed dark red and ran to grab his pants. Bakura stopped him with a mischievous smirk and whispered something in his ear. Marik stopped and nodded with a maniacal grin spreading across his face, and quickly grabbed his own shaving cream from his bag.

Atem tapped his foot impatiently against the ground, his arms crossed in irritation. "MARIK!" A loud moan from behind the bathroom door made him pause for a second, "BAKURA!" He persevered, still waiting in the center of the bedroom. "Whatever you two are doing," Another moan interrupted his rant, but he continued unperturbed, "is not important," another moan, followed by a stifled sneeze, "enough to", moan, "ignore _me_, of all—"

"MARIK!" Bakura's voice screamed in ecstasy. The pharaoh paled. A few seconds, and the tomb robber's cry was followed by a matching, "BAKURA!" from Marik.

Atem flushed bright red, but stomped his foot. "_What_ are you two _imbeciles_ doing in there?"

The door slowly cracked open and Bakura's head emerged. His eyes were half lidded in lust, perfectly combined with tangled and sweaty hair and a glistening sheen of sweat coating his entire face. "Yeah, pharaoh?"

Atem's mouth fell open, his eyes honing in on the white globs splattered across the tomb robber's face, specifically around his mouth. "Wh-Wh-Wh-Wh—" He couldn't get the question out of his numb lips.

"Bakura, baby, why'd you leave me?" Marik asked in a sultry voice, poking his head out besides Bakura. His tangled blond hair had fallen from his ponytail and stuck to his sweaty face. "I'm not finished with you." He licked a streak of creamy white from the other's face with a sensual purr. "I can think of so many other _positions._"

"What are you two doing?" Atem squeaked, his face as red as a tomato. "Th-That's m-m-m-y…"

Marik swung the door upon, fully exposing their nude bodies. He raised an eyebrow mockingly, "What does it look like we're doing?"

The pharaoh clapped his hands over his mouth, embarrassed flush fading and being replaced with a sickly green pallor. "You _fucked_ each other… in _my_ bathroom." Without another word, he shoved past the two and dry heaved over the open toilet. His eyes widened as he shrieked and stumbled back. "You aren't supposed to _flush_ condoms!"

Bakura leaned against the doorframe with a smirk on his face. "You also aren't supposed to use toothpaste as lube." He turned slightly and pointed to his ass. "Wanna kiss it? It's minty fresh."

Atem pulled himself together and stormed out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. "You two are _not_ getting out of there until you clean up your… your disgusting m-mess!" His voice cracked. "E-very last drop!"

"But we wanted to keep it as evidence once we complete the Kama Sutra!" Marik called back. Bakura covered his mouth, barely able to contain his laughter.

"No!" The pharaoh shrieked obstinately. "Not on the m-mirrors, not on the toilet, not _i-in_ the toilet, not _anywhere_ in the s-shower, not on the sinks, n-not under the sinks, not on the f-floor and not in, on, o-or under the _counters_." He paused. "And take it off the _ceiling_ too! That was just sick!"

Marik and Bakura looked at each other, before collapsing into silent fits of uncontainable laughter.

"Oh-Okay Atem… Y-You win. We'll c-clean the ba-bathroom." The tomb robber sputtered as he staggered to his feet, gasping for air.

"I call first shower!" Marik piped in quickly. Bakura's receding laughter disappeared instantly as he whirled around, only to find the blond already stepping behind the curtain.

"Asshole." He grumbled, "I'm the one with the most shit on me."

"By the way, good idea about mixing the shaving cream with water. It made it look realistic." Marik commented, before turning on the water.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Bakura smirked as he slowly began to get ready to clean the bathroom. "You have first shower, so you have to clean up what I don't." He shouted over the roaring water.

"Fine. But if the pharaoh starts screaming at me, you have to deal with him. Your idea, your plan, your problem."

"I don't care."

* * *

><p>End Chapter 1, Begin Author's Notes<p>

Here it is my lovelies; the reason why I have regretfully ignored all of my other stories. This monstrosity has been in the works on and off for over two years and is still not even close to being complete. It is extremely unlikely that I will ever finish it, but I will try my hardest because I've always wanted to write a Harry Potter Yugioh crossover. I don't know about you, but I am excited. Hopefully I will be seeing you again in a month or so.

If you have any questions or comments, feel free to review and I will reply as soon as possible. As always, reviews boost my creativity and can usually smash through most writer's blocks. Review please my darlings!


	2. Isolated Eyes

Three sets of different colored eyes blinked disbelievingly at the headmaster of Hogwarts.

The owner of the crimson was the first to speak, after glaring at the cause of an awkward sneeze. "What?"

"I am strongly suggesting that you piggy-back along with our seventh year classes so you become better acquainted with our world. Seventh year are the students closest to your age groups, and who knows; perhaps you could make a few friends." Dumbledore stated good-naturedly. He held out a handful of black candy. "Licorice snap?"

Blue grey eyes narrowed in a considering manner. "How strong is this… _suggestion,_ of yours?"

"Very strong. Because you do not go to a magic school because of your different branch of magic, there is no curriculum for you to continue along with while you are here. It would be a waste of time for all of you if you just sat around waiting for each task of the tournament. The other head masters and I took of each of your personalities strong consideration into making the decision of which schools you should be partnered with and we decided that interest-wise, Misters Bakura and Ishtar would fit best with Durmstrang students while Mister Muto would get along swimmingly with Hogwarts' very own students." He explained cheerfully. "But of course that doesn't mean that you will stay solely with your school. You will merely be under their jurisdiction and encouraged to interact with students from their school."

Dark violet eyes darted to the level grey pair beside of him. "I would be in the same classes as… _him_?" He sniffled, trying not to let the mucus drip past his upper lip.

Dumbledore popped the rejected licorice snaps into his mouth and chewed on them thoughtfully. "Although you do not get along well with each other, we believe that you will be able to find other people that you could fit in with." He swallowed the candy before stroking his beard. "Please understand that we are doing this so we can incorporate the shadow mages back into the wizarding world. You will not be required to do anything for the classes nor will you be graded; we merely have high hopes that you will learn about us and we can learn about you."

The violet eyes narrowed angrily. "You just want to learn our secrets."

"On the contrary, Mr. Ishtar. We want you to learn our secrets." Dumbledore corrected pleasantly.

The pupils of the violet eyes shrank dementedly. "Well you and the other headmasters can kiss my Egyptian a-"

The owner of the crimson eyes slammed his hands over the violet-eyed man's mouth. "Don't you dare complete that sentence." A sneeze, and the crimson-eyed man hastily tore his hand away, after wiping it against the other's cloak.

The grey-eyed man was still skeptical. "Why would it matter if we learned your secrets? We can't use your magic."

"Yes, but our world revolves around these secrets. It will be extremely difficult for your champion to survive these challenges without at least a basic understanding of our magic." Dumbledore explained, before shrugging. "And the same question goes for your protection of your secrets. We, under no circumstances, would be able to use your magic. It is merely in the pursuit of knowledge."

Three sets of different colored eyes flickered to each other edgily, before the crimson-eyed man bobbed his head curtly. "We agree to your suggestion."

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Wonderful. I am so glad to hear that you have agreed." He tapped on a sheaf of papers commandingly. "We shall have your schedules created in a day's time. Please do not cause too much chaos amongst the students. "

A shadow of a harsh smirk passed beneath challenging grey eyes. "Why not? We'd be training them for the tournament."

"Bakura!" The crimson-eyed male hissed sharply, grabbing onto the other's shoulder. "You do _not_ dispute with our hosts."

The old man merely chuckled, warm blue eyes sparkling merrily. "I suppose a little bit of chaos would not be bad for them; it would keep them on their toes. But understand that mischief and cruelty are distinctly separated by a line. And it is a very, very distinguished line, for any you who may chose to tread it. Take care that you do not accidentally cross over it." He warned softly.

This whispered admonition caused a flicker of doubt to appear even in a set of brash violet eyes. The emotion was immediately suppressed in them, and the blond owner whirled around with a heavily emphasized movement to create the effect of a flurry of wispy cloth flapping in the air, in order to hide the trembling frown on his face. "I wasn't planning on doing either to your precious students. They aren't worth my time." The violet-eyed man spat defiantly, before storming from the room, leaving only a soggy remnant from his final sneeze.

The man with proud crimson eyes snickered. "Do not worry, head master. I give my word that I shall not disturb your students in any negative way." He followed his companion's lead out the door, leaving only the grey eyes trained on the headmaster.

Slate grey eyes narrowed aggressively. "Are you threatening me, Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"Of course not." Dumbledore replied amiably, rolling a licorice snap lithely between his wrinkled fingers. "I was merely stating the facts."

"I don't take well to mockery." The grey-eyed man suddenly shifted his weight into a fighter's crouch as the headmaster reached into one of the desk drawers. "What are you doing?"

"Hmm?" Dumbledore looked up before smiling. "I'm sorry if I worried you, I was just going to refill my bowl of candy. I seem to be running low."

"Everything a man like you _does_ worries me. Every breath you take is dangerous; even the obliviously idiotic pharaoh can tell that you aren't just some old man." Grey eyes blinked slowly before he turned around and walked towards the door. In the middle of the doorway, stony eyes flashed back to the still smiling headmaster. "Don't think that I'm stupid. I may be old, but I'm not senile."

Before Dumbledore could reply, the shadow mage disappeared through the door and closed it with a soft click. The white haired old man chuckled to himself as he shook his head. "How cautious these shadow mages are. If only some of our students shared their caution in the more dangerous aspects of their lives."

"Dumbledore, they should not be at this school." A woman stated crisply as she stepped out of the shadows of the office. "They are a threat to our students and every moral that we hold dear to our school. They do not belong here."

"Headmaster Dumbledore, however often I may disagree with Minerva, I must protest to this arrangement you have made with these 'shadow mages'." The dark haired man drawled as he appeared from behind a shadowy pillar. "I am not sure that I understand your reasons for bringing them here."

"They should have the same opportunities to study in a school and to compete in competitions as other wizards." Dumbledore replied amiably, popping another licorice snap into his mouth. "Innocent before proven guilty, Minerva. They have not done anything harmful to the students."

"But they _will_!" McGonagall insisted, indicating to the sheets of parchment stacked haphazardly across his desk. "You have read their alibis! Each and every one of them is extremely dangerous and unstable; not suitable to be around our children in their protected learning environment! This is madness!"

"Minerva, we _must_ become allies with these mages. Voldemort has not returned to his full power, but he undoubtedly will, and we need these mages to work with us, rather than against us." Dumbledore sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "If there were any other way, believe me, I would instantly snap up that opportunity. But this is the only chance we have to show that us modern day wizards will extend open arms to them. Allowing them to come to our school and participate on an equal playing field in our competition to win a trophy that will be recognized all over the wizarding world; there's no better way Minerva."

"I suppose." Snape conceded dryly. "It is better than leaving them to stay at Black's house. If they did, they would pick up Sirius's habits, and our world does not need another three Black clones running around."

McGonagall frowned, "Don't talk about Sirius that way. He's a bit rough around the edges, but still a good boy." She insisted.

"Hardly."

The Gryffindor head shot her rival a glare, but nodded reluctantly at Dumbledore. "I do trust you, Dumbledore. And I will follow you wherever you go. Just _try_ to be careful. You aren't as young as you once were, I'll have you remember. Having these shadow mages around will definitely keep us all very, very busy."

"And your trust is all I can ask for, Minerva, Severus." He smiled warmly. "Now come. I do believe we have a meeting with Bartemius for the size arrangements necessary for the first task."

Bakura smirked victoriously as he slammed the doors open, Marik and Atem following close behind him. The room became silent, all eyes intently focused on the three shadow mages.

"Do you really think that I am going to lose to you, tomb robber? This cup judges on character, not muscles." The pharaoh snarled, gesturing to the goblet.

"So you've mentioned." Bakura stopped and whirled around, wiggling his finger patronizingly. "So I guess its only fair that I mention that it doesn't matter what the cup judges on, wittle boy."

Atem gaped. "What?"

Marik rolled his eyes and Bakura nodded in satisfaction. "I see tomb keeper gets it."

The blond yami growled, but nodded a reply stiffly. "I thought we already established this last night." He toed the glowing blue line, sniffling dejectedly. "I'm eight. No way am I getting past this stupid thing."

Atem smirked triumphantly as he scribbled his name on a sheet of paper. "Too bad. It's not like you would have won anyways." He walked towards the line, and immaturely stuck his tongue back out at Marik. "Not all of us can be omnipotent pharaohs like me."

Marik started to leap forwards to attack him, but Bakura pulled him back, leaning towards his ear as he did so. "In less than two seconds, you'll see exactly _why_ I will be laughing."

Suddenly, Atem flew backwards, eliciting screams from the girls he had fallen spread eagle on in the stands. The two standing yamis burst into gales of hysterical laughter, similar in sound to that of nitrous oxide injected hyenas, as the pharaoh got off of the girls stiffly and stormed down the steps.

"You are such an idiot, Atem!" The robber screeched, tears of mirth pooling at the corners of his grey eyes.

Marik's guffaws slowly receded into an occasional dark chuckle as he waited for Bakura to calm down enough to explain the reason for the pharaoh's rejection. Distractedly, he ran his fingers through his hair while making sure to take full pleasure in the flustered appearance of the pharaoh. It wasn't often that the shortest yami made such a grave miscalculation in front of an audience. In fact, it was a rare occurrence that he even made a mistake. It just didn't happen.

Atem popped his neck edgily, as he folded the paper into neat rectangles in his palm. "It was nothing. It didn't react to my age properly the first time. After all, it must be hard to perfectly gauge the age of a spirit bound in a body of shadows." He excused, straightening his silk robes huffily. With resolved steps, the multi-colored hair bobbed pridefully up to the glowing barrier once more. This time he warily stuck a single toe across the line only to be hurled over ten feet back to his previous position into the now emptied stands.

The students in the room couldn't help but snicker along as the two broke into yet another round of frenzied cachinnations.

Atem recollected enough dignity to pull himself from the ground and wipe the dust from his robes, before storming back to his fellow shadow mages. "What is so damn funny, tomb keeper, thief?" He hissed as he attempted to pull them into a shadowy corner, trying to summon up the remaining shreds his shreds of bruised ego against the crippling giggles of the young students.

Bakura refused to be herded, pulling violently out of the pharaoh's sweaty palms. "I'm not going away with you, pharaoh. _I_ need to put my name in. Since I'm obviously going to be the sole shadow mage competing for a place in this competition. " He reminded smugly as he chuckled to himself and scribbled his name on a thin piece of parchment. "And you said we needed to vote. Idiotic."

"Fine." Atem sneered, crossing his arms pompously. "You will not get any further than I, tomb robber. _Then_, we will see who shall be laughing." He added darkly.

Bakura merely shot him a haughty smirk in reply, before dramatically preparing to jump over the line. Atem leaned back with his eyes closed, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he anticipated savoring the defeated scream of the cocky tomb robber. Marik held his breath, violet eyes unblinking as he stared at Bakura's feet. And the white haired yami jumped.

Atem grinned as he heard a gasp. "I told you." He opened his eyes, and the grin dropped a notch. "What?" He demanded disbelievingly.

Bakura cackled as he danced inside of the glowing barrier. "It worked. I knew I was right, but still!" He screeched happily, before stopping to wave mockingly at the other yamis. "Nyah, nyah. I win, pharaoh!" He proudly stuck both of his middle fingers up proudly. "Suck this, mother-fucker!"

"Why you little-!" Atem stormed towards the tomb robber, completely forgetting about the barrier. With a muffled yelp, he was thrown back into the stands for a third time. He slowly pushed himself to his feet, a murderous glare fixed on Bakura's conceited face. "What sort of demonic trickery is this, Bakura?"

"Nothing. It's simply senior privilege." Bakura sent the smudged ball of parchment tumbling into the goblet with a mocking flick of his wrist. The blue flames swallowed it hungrily, before sinking back into their stone confinement. "The old man did say you had to be over 17 to enter, yes?"

"I am over five thousand years old! What did you do, Bakura?" The ancient pharaoh demanded, veins beginning to pop on his puce flushed forehead.

Bakura stood directly on top of the age line, a knowing smirk spread proudly across his lips. "You idiot. That's your ka. Not the physical body it is inhabiting."

The veins slowly faded back into the rest of the Atem's skin. "What do you mean by that, Bakura?" His eyes skimmed over the eagerly listening students surrounding them. "But let us talk later."

Bakura crossed his arms defensively before stepping back into the barrier. "No way. These brats should know what they're living with." He uncrossed his arms languidly and cracked his tan fingers, before a large gold coin seemed to fall out of thin air into his awaiting digits. "You seem to forget that you are no longer a spirit." He smirked in reply to Atem's uncomprehending look. "When our bodies were recreated, they were created the age that we were when we died, moron." His smirk broadened. "And I was sixteen and a half when I died. You were only fifteen; I remember the city celebrating your fifteenth birthday only a month before I burned the city to the ground. Even now, a year later, it is still physically impossible for you… or Marik, for that matter, to pass over, across, through, under, or anything else you can think of, this line." He kicked the blue flames of the age line mockingly. "Aannnd-!" He jammed his finger in Atem's direction, "You're a goody-goody pharaoh. Cheating to get in would be way worse to your pride than just not getting in at all. And any way of you altering physical age to get around this age line is considered cheating. You lose, fair and square." He flapped his hand dismissively. "Get lost, pharaoh. If you come within a stone's distance of me except at the table, I'll grind your flimsy bones to make my bread." Lips curled into a toothy grin. "Got it?"

Marik snorted as the pharaoh stormed from the room with an angry snarl. "Were you playing that by ear, or did you actually know it would work?"

The tomb robber grinned edaciously. "What do you think?" Suddenly, he realized whom he was speaking to and the grin dropped, replaced quickly with a scathing sneer. "I don't converse on decent terms with traitors." He spat acidly, before following Atem's path out the door.

Marik rolled his eyes and sneezed as Bakura slammed the door behind him. "Touchy bastard." His eyes dropped to the age line, before sliding up along the rough curves of the goblet of fire. "Why not?" A toe edged to the age line as he sent a suspicious glance around the room. Most of the students had cleared out and returned to their classes or were in drowned in conversations with their friends; either way, they wouldn't notice if he used a just bit of shadow magic. Slowly, he gathered the magic at the base of his feet and they began bouncing up and down, one foot at a time as the magic spurted into the air and disappeared. "Perfect." He purred, before bounding in the air and awkwardly lowering himself straight above the goblet. Constant sparks of shadows alternating between his feet barely managed to keep him level and still floating as he scribbled his name on a sheet of parchment. His right eye shut to narrow his vision and he shifted the folded paper to drop directly into the goblet. Marik released the paper from his grip, a smirk drawing across his lips. "Perf-" An inch before floating into the goblet, it burst into neon orange flames and disintegrated into delicate flakes of ash. "What?" He snarled before sneezing, accidentally stalling the constant flow of magic and dropping him straight into the shield projected by the age line. With a yelp, he was lobbed into the previously vacated bleachers, instantly drawing all conversations to an end and all eyes to him.

"Damned Dumbledore." The blond muttered as he returned to his feet, legs trembling from the shock of the unexpected drop and throw. "Who the hell does he think he is compared to me; the rightful _pharaoh_ of the Shadow Realm?" He rubbed his nose with the back of his arm with an irritated sniffle. "Gods damnit."

"These are our schedules?" Marik demanded wearily, holding the thin sheet of parchment in the light.

Bakura glanced at the blonde's before looking back at his. "They do say 'Schedule' on top of them in big cursive lettering." He replied contemptuously as his eyes scanned through the classes. "We have all of our classes in different rooms with different teachers. It would be more convenient if the teachers came to us."

Atem looked over their shoulders at their schedules. "Some of those are Hogwarts teachers' names." He added, waving his paper in beside their faces.

Marik spluttered, shoving the pharaoh's hand away. "Did it _sound_ like I was talking to you?"

"Didn't you understand my Jack and the Beanstalk reference the first time? In simple terms, I said leave me alone." The oldest yami added apathetically, not even looking back at his arch-nemesis.

"I was just trying to be helpful." Atem grumbled, creasing his schedule into neat squares. "Besides, I figured since you guys would be spending enough time at each other's throat during classes, I'd offer a little bit of light in your morning."

Bakura stopped and turned to face him, eyes as hard as granite. "I was having a decent morning, with the exception of this creature, until you started speaking. How about you, Marik?"

The blond tilted his head to the side. "Now that you mention it, this morning sucks." He suddenly held up a finger, pausing.

"Well? Why does it suck?" Bakura growled impatiently, annoyed that his comment had been nullified. "If you say it's because of me, I'll make your life hell."

"ACHOO!" Marik's head snapped towards the ground, his mouth flying open and phlegm and spittle spewing from various orifices. The other two yamis looked at him in obvious surprise, but he ignored him, instead favoring to wipe his dripping nose on the edge of his cloak.

"Excuse you." The shortest muttered irately, his eyebrow inadvertently twitching in disgust.

"This is why my day sucks." Marik grumbled, his voice adopting a more nasally pitch. "It's been like this for a couple of days, but never as bad as it was last night. I could barely _breath_ through my nose or mouth!"

"You snored the entire night. Talk about annoying." Bakura retorted, before returning his glare to Atem.

"So what do you want me to do? Not talk to you and go eat somewhere else?" Atem demanded thoroughly irritated with the blonde's complaining, and beginning to get annoyed with Bakura's stubbornness.

"That would be ideal." The robber retorted scathingly. "Unfortunately, irking rumors would start floating around the school if that happened, so I suppose we'll have to sit together until one of us finds friends at a different table."

"What is your problem?" Atem demanded incredulously as Bakura began to walk away.

"My problem?" He whirled around, before storming up to the confused pharaoh and furiously jabbing a finger into his chest. "If you don't remember what you did, you definitely don't deserve to remember." He snarled, before heading towards the Great Hall. Marik jogged to catch up to the other villain, until Bakura shot him a caustic glare. "Why are you following me? Go fuck the pharaoh, or sniff Sharpies, or something equally retarded."

As Bakura thundered through the large double doors, Atem made to stand beside Marik. "Do you think he's always this bipolar?"

Marik looked down at him disdainfully before rolling his eyes and saying, "Shut up." He quickly followed Bakura's path through the doors into the Great Hall with a parting sneeze.

Atem clenched his fists in annoyance at being blown off like a pesky horsefly. In Japan, he always had friends to back him up. But here… He shook his head and released his fists. He really needed to find some new friends. Until then, "Hey, wait up!" He called, running towards the slowly shutting doors. They slammed in his face with a reverberating thud. A disgusted sigh escaped his lips. Definitely needed some new friends. He pushed open the doors and jogged down the center of the hall, trying to ignore the staring students around him. Unlike in Domino Japan, no one in England had even remotely 'strange' hairstyles, not even the wizards! Bakura and Marik's hairs could have been achieved through lots of bleaching; they just looked like they had decided on a subtle style choice rather than a fashion statement. Marik had even pulled his hair back into a low-lying ponytail, making it nearly twenty times less ostentatious than before. Atem slid into his seat, eyes scanning the food available, before slumping dejectedly. The other two yamis had, of course, already taken all of the food that was even slightly reminiscent of Egypt or the Arab culture in general. Leaving him with the cruddy British food and smatterings of decent Japanese cuisine. Of course.

The pharaoh noticed that Bakura seemed to have calmed down, as he was leaning nearly an inch away from Marik's nose and not frowning at all. "You look different. Why?"

Marik seemed to be struggling between scowling at the bluntness of the tomb robber's inquiry and being flattered that the other had even noticed the change. He finally opted on nonchalance, flipping his long locks over the shoulder closest to Bakura. "I suppose. I changed it as soon as I had moved away from Malik."

"Makes sense." Bakura leaned back, taking in the full effect of the hairstyle. "But you look even more like Malik than you did before."

Marik shrugged and stuffed a heaping spoonful of fuul into his mouth. "That's not the point." He replied, spitting flecks of the bean stew all across the table; including Bakura's face and the pharaoh's hands. The two other yami's glared at the blond in disgust. "Marik, if you ever spit anything besides money at me again, I will strangle you with your own ponytail." Bakura threatened, wiping the brown liquid from his face with Marik's napkin. "And what do you mean, that's not the point?"

"'Cause," Marik indifferently shoved another bite of fuul in his mouth, "I don't live with Malik anymore so it doesn't matter if I look like him or not. I'm the only one at this school who looks like this so it doesn't matter. Besides, he doesn't keep his in a ponytail. That's all me." Bean juice was dripping down his pointy chin back into the bowl.

Atem wrinkled his nose, eyes drifting up to his ostentatious spears of brightly colored hair. "Marik, give me a hair band." He ordered while pulling his locks to the back of his head.

"No." The yami spat, making sure to splatter the pharaoh's face with chunks of soggy beans.

Atem glared and let go of his hair, allowing it to spring back into place. "You are revolting." He seethed as he wiped the chunks from his face with disdainful flicks of his wrist. "Improve your manners if you would like to enjoy the privilege of continuing to be allowed to be seated at my table."

Bakura choked, orange juice spewed across the food in slobbery droplets. "E-Excuse me?" He stammered, gasping for breath.

The pharaoh ignored his outburst and began to fix his hair behind his head once more.

"You're…" Marik's pupils dilated as his lips pulled back into a feral snarl. "If you even _dare_ do what I think you're doing…"

Atem held the spikes back with one hand as he appraised his distorted reflection in a golden goblet. "It'll do." He sniffed disdainfully before letting it fall back into place.

The blond slammed his palms against the tables as he stood up. "No way in Ammut's stomach are you going to do that." He hissed, flicking his hair over his right shoulder. "See this? It's _mine_. I refuse to let _my_ hairstyle be tainted by _your _stupidity!"

"Ooo. Is there gonna be a bitch fight about hair?" Bakura asked with a smirk.

"Well what am I supposed to do? Dye my hair?" Atem retorted sharply, tugging on a lightning shaped bang. "I don't have many options with this."

Marik's eyes narrowed menacingly as he clenched his fists. "You want an option?" Before Atem could react, he snatched a water pitcher from the table and dumped it unevenly over the brightly colored spikes. Atem's mouth dropped open as water fell onto his hair poured downwards, soaking every inch of his body. "Here. Try these, they'll make it dry straight." Marik sneered as he grabbed several plates full of food and dumped them face down on the pharaoh's head. Bakura had long since collapsed in peals of laughter and was unable to even make a snide remark about the scene.

Atem growled furiously, and side-tackled Marik onto the stone floor. "You bastard!" He yelled, punching the blond in the stomach repeatedly.

Marik just sniffled. "You're one to talk, you pathetic, stupid, lazy, unimaginative, ugly-" Atem swiftly grabbed his arm and stuffed it into his mouth, biting down hard. The yami yelped as he backed out, grasping the bite mark. "You bit me, you damned little shit!"

"Fight, fight, fight!" Bakura chanted in gasps between never ending laughs. Marik fell onto of Atem in a flurry of punches of kicks. "How dare you!" "Me? You poured water on my head!" They ran into a table and rolled over it, smashing everything in their range. "You asked for it!" They fell on top of a student and rolled off, leaving her with a bloody nose. "You just punched that girl!" "No you bit her!" "Boys!" Another set of plates was shoved from a table and shattered with a resounding crunch. Marik blocked a red flash with a hasty shadow shield. "Stop it this instant!" Atem continued to claw at Marik, leaving trails of blood wherever his fingers touched. Bakura was still chanting excitedly in the background. Another series of red flashes missed or were barely blocked. They rolled across the jam, splattering wherever they tumbled next. A second, third, fourth student were injured as there rampage continued randomly across the tables of the hall. Toast crumbled beneath their combined weights. As a fifth student was about to receive a kick in the face, the red bolts finally caught Marik off guard. The two shadow mages froze in an unwilling embrace, Atem's face only inches away from biting Marik's bleeding and bruised arm and the blonde's foot only millimeters away from smashing across the pharaoh's bruise covered and bloody face. Bakura's chanting had stopped and he had slid out of view of the teachers. McGonagall was standing over the two yamis, nostrils flaring in anger. "You two. Release each other now and stand up." She snapped, flicking a light blue spell at them. Marik made sure to grind a foot into Atem's hair before he followed her orders.

As Atem stood and brushed herself off, McGonagall looked around the hall with hawk-eyes. "Where is your companion?" She asked brusquely.

"He probably ran away like a scared child at the first sign of authority intervention." The pharaoh sneered, crossing his arms. "Now what would you like?"

"There will be no fighting anywhere on school grounds, magical or not." The professor stated firmly. "You two will both be placed in detention under Professor—" Her eyes slid onto Snape and a tiny smirk crossed her lips, "Snape for the next two weeks, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after your classes for one and a half hours. Do you understand?"

"But what about Ba-ah—" Marik elbowed Atem harshly, causing his voice to crack.

"Mr. Bakura shall attend my detention on Tuesday and Thursday this week for an hour each session. His encouragement in no way compares to the extent of the damage caused by your fighting." She replied, gesturing to the wrecked tables behind the two.

The pharaoh puffed up smugly, his eyebrow arched in a somewhat condescending manner. "You have no rule over me. I don't even go to your school."

"Yes you do, Mr. Muto." McGonagall snapped back crisply, her eyebrow raised to match his. "Your agreement with Dumbledore included being under the jurisdiction of the school you are assigned to. That means you answer to all of the Hogwarts staff now."

Atem turned bright red before paling and seeming to deflate. "I shall honor my side of our agreement." He folded into a quick bow, the agreement unwillingly sliding through gritted teeth.

It was Marik's turn to raise a cocky eyebrow as he lifted his chin proudly. "Fine. I'll honor my part in the agreement to. By listening to what Headmaster Karkaroff believes is an appropriate punishment and attending my next class on time. Now if you will stop detaining me, I'd like to find Bakura."

"That won't be hard." Bakura slid next to him, smirking as the yami jumped slightly in surprise. "Let's go. This is getting boring."

"Mr.'s Ishtar and Bakura. You will not leave until you understand that you _will_ be coming to detention with me and Professor Snape and you _will_ listen to the teachers of your host school." McGonagall very nearly snarled, her face flushing slightly. "_You_ agreed to come stay here. _You_ agreed to apply for the tournament. _You_ agreed to take classes at our school. And Mr. Bakura, _you_ will agree to listen to me when I say you _will_ have detention with me after on Tuesday and Thursday for an hour because of your involvement in this fiasco."

Bakura's eyes flashed dangerously as he took an ominous step towards the riled professor. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you forfeit your right to dorms, food, and education here." She hissed, stepping nose to nose with him. "Is that a risk you are willing to take, Mr. Bakura?"

Icy tension held between the two for more than a minute before, surprising the other shadow mages, Bakura stepped back, a mocking grin spreading across his lips. "As you wish, Professor McGonagall. I'll see you in detention tomorrow night." He turned around and headed towards the double doors, calling back, "Come on, Marik. Unless you want to get lost."

Marik snorted disdainfully. "I'll think about what you said. Don't expect me to come tonight."

"Don't expect to be fed tonight." The professor replied sharply. Both sent each other short glares before whirling around and heading their separate ways.

Chatter instantly flared up in the hall, after being dead silent during the yamis' confrontations with McGonagall. Atem brushed off his cloak before dropping onto an emptied bench, massaging his forehead with a disgusted sigh. "Ugh. Why did those imbecilic _fools_ have to make such a big deal over hair? Tomb keeper should have been flattered that the pharaoh chose to replicate his hair style."

"Ummm… Hi."

"What?" The pharaoh deadpanned, sending a mild glare towards the two teens in front of him. The redhead shifted, his blue eyes flickering nervously to look at anything but Atem. The yami disregarded him to focus on the other. The other was talking. To him. Green eyes were actually trying to stare him down. The Son of Osiris, King of the Shadows. And he had stopped talking and was looking at him expectantly. A _commoner_ expecting an answer. Huh. "What?"

"Hey Harry. He's from Japan. Maybe the only English he knows is 'what'." The redhead suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

Atem's eyes flashed angrily as he tautly shifted into a more regal position. "I said 'what' the first time because I was merely attempting to figure out why two impudent commoners were even speaking to me without being spoken to first. The second 'what' was because I was thinking about all of the possible reasons _why_ two commoners would dare approach me so informally and I missed what ever it was that the black haired one was saying."

The redhead clenched his jaw as the black haired one spoke, his voice terse. "I was just asking what you and your mates were fighting about, _your Majesty_."

"Never imply that me and those common impure pieces of filth are friends. It is sickening and extremely insulting." Atem spat instantly, before crossing his arms. "Why do you want to know?"

"Harry, it's not worth it. This guy is just a wanker. Let's go." The redhead grumbled, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry shook out of his light grip. "No way, Ron. We wanted to know because you destroyed half of the Great Hall with your personal affairs."

The yami opened his mouth to decline, but was interrupted by a blonde girl who stormed to the spot beside him, brown eyes flashing furiously. "Tell me what your fight was about. You destroyed half my table."

Crimson eyes flickered mockingly to the duo standing in front of him, before he gestured the girl closer. Without any hesitation, he leant in beside her ear and began whispering the events to her. Her face twisted from horror, to shock, and finally to confusion as she backed away. "Fine. Thanks a lot, asshole." She snapped before storming back to the Slytherin table and animatedly passing the story on.

"What?" Ron croaked.

"Is that the _only_ English you know?" Atem asked sarcastically, before idly popping a squished piece of toast into his mouth.

"Why'd you answer to her? She was ten times ruder than us!" Harry exclaimed, clenching his fists.

"Because she's at least acted like she had a spine." The pharaoh replied without hesitation. "I don't talk to pathetic little boys about my personal life."

"Harry! Ron! What are you two doing just standing there? We have class in fifteen minutes!" A brunette exclaimed, shoving between the two. She froze as her eyes greedily landed on the shadow mage, before her tongue flicked out to wet her suddenly dry lips.

Harry and Ron shook her suddenly, leaning their heads right next to her ears. "Hermione! Ask him why he and the other shadow mages suddenly tore up the hall."

Hermione glanced back at the two, eyes wide in apprehension. "Why not you?" She whispered harshly.

"Because you can act like a know it all! Just suck it up and do it." Harry prodded, shoving her closer to the pharaoh.

She shot a scorching glare back at her two friends before turning to Atem, a congenial smile on her face. "What's your name?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he replied, "Atem."

"Can you tell all three of us why you and the other shadow mage nearly destroyed the Great Hall in a fist fight?" Hermione continued nervously, twirling a finger through a lock of curly hair.

Crimson eyes narrowed further, as he shifted positions. "Why should I tell those two? They offended me."

"We did n-" Harry swiftly stomped on Ron's foot, cutting off the rest of his yell.

"Because I asked you nicely?" The witch tried, brown eyes innocently wide.

"Humph." Atem snorted before giving a regal nod. "Fine. I'll listen to your request, girl. I decided that I wanted to change my hairstyle so I attempted to style mine similarly to Marik's. He and Bakura brutally teamed up to abuse me; Bakura with the vocal and Marik with the metal plates. After having several of the plates rudely slammed into my head with a vengeance, I decided to defend my honor and fight back. Marik eagerly took of the challenge and attempted to beat me to a bloody pulp."

"Attempted?"

Atem shot the sniggering redhead a swift glare, "Yes, attempted. Finally Professor McGonagall managed to get past the shield he had put up in order to keep his wicked pounding from being interrupted, and she dragged us apart. I instantly agreed with her proposition of detention and reminded her that Bakura took an active part in the fight. Marik punched me to the ground once more and screamed at McGonagall that he would never conform to her stupid rules. Bakura popped up singing the same tune, but McGonagall managed to intimidate him into detention. Marik didn't agree to obey the rules and stormed away in a huff. And then they both swooped out through the doors in a cloud of malice and hatred. I bet that right now, they are beating another innocent person just for the 'fun' of it all."

"This it?" Marik asked scratching his head, as he looked at a door almost identical to every other door in the castle. He had no idea how Bakura had found this place; as soon as he had stepped out of the Great Hall he was lost. It must have come from tomb robbing, he mused decisively as he wiped his dripping nose.

Bakura double-checked the room name on his list. "This is it." He replied, before tugging on the golden handle. The door slid open easily, revealing several Durmstrang students milling about the large classroom.

"What are _you_ doing here?" A blond one demanded.

"Did the omnipotent shadow mages get lost?" Another cooed sarcastically. A few more Durmstrang students moved to stand beside their classmates in support.

Bakura's eyes narrowed before he stretched out a large hand. A deadly hiss escaped his lips, "One more word. I dare any of you."

A dark haired boy snorted. "Retard."

Golden sparks erupted around the boy's chest and he was flung between the shadowy arches of the ceiling. "Use your wand!" Someone, presumably one of his friends, suggested helpfully. Needy fingers grasped at his wand, but a black shadow dropped it into Bakura's awaiting palm.

"That didn't work. Pity. It was such a good idea too." The tomb robber walked into the now silent classroom, arms crossed over his chest. "Do you want to come down?" He asked with his head tilted cutely to the side and his grey eyes sparkling sympathetically.

The boy clawed at the shadow magic, before a squeak escaped his lips. "Yes!"

"Too bad." Bakura sneered, before sitting on top of the boy's desk. "No one mocks the Thief King and gets away with it."

"Bakura, get the boy down from there. I enjoy chaos as much as the next yami, but their headmaster will be here any moment." Marik chided calmly, stretching his hands over his head. "I don't think you want any _more_ detention." A sneeze caused him to bang his hands against his head, eliciting a dejected, "Ooouuuch."

"Yeah listen to your boyfriend, you fag." A bald boy breathed sarcastically.

Another struggling body hit the ceiling and a second wand dropped into Bakura's hands.

"Did you just call me gay?" Bakura demanded, an incredulous eyebrow raised. He walked over to the boy's book bag and emptied it out onto his table. A malicious smirk appeared on his face as he pulled out a hot pink quill pen for the rest of the classroom to see. "Did _you_ just call me gay?"

"Erik has that pink quill?" The first blond boy cackled, before collapsing into a fit of hysterics. The rest of the boys were quick to follow his example, turning Erik's face tomato red in embarrassment.

"It's my sister's!" He protested, trying to get down from the ceiling.

"Mr. Bakura, I believe that is quite enough." The headmaster stated angrily as he stomped into the room.

'I told you!' Marik mouthed gleefully, before sticking his tongue out.

A tan digit twitched and Marik suddenly flew in the air and did a partial back flip before ending by crash-landing on his head.

"I figured your fluffy hair and thick head would cushion the blow." Bakura sent him a spiteful smirk.

"You'll pay for that!" Marik snarled as he rolled to his feet, ignoring the headmaster's enraged cries to stop. Golden sparks appeared on Bakura's body and he flew back, smashing into the back wall. His lapse in concentration caused the boys held on the ceiling to drop onto the tables beneath them. They groaned in pain, carefully feeling every part of their body for injury.

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" The other boys in the class chanted as Bakura pulled away from the cracked stones and popped his sparking knuckles. "You're gonna get it." He spat, storming furiously towards the blond.

"You'll never beat me." Marik replied confidently, hands glowing with shadow magic.

Bright red bolts hit both of them and they froze in place, unable to continue their fight.

"That is quite enough." The headmaster hissed. "If you do not shape up, I will most definitely make sure that two of the shadow mages are unable to participate in the tournament. Do you understand?" He released them from the spell with a wordless command, and they nodded curtly. "My students, I expected better of you. Now sit down!"

The Durmstrang students instantly scrambled into their seats, leaving three seats with other students and one full table empty.

Bakura and Marik glanced at each other, before sitting down at the empty table. Their chairs were scooted as far away from each other as possible, causing the headmaster to raise an eyebrow. "There are seats with other students. Students whom you will not argue with."

"I'm fine." Marik stated blankly, before sneezing. Bakura nodded his head wordlessly in agreement.

The headmaster walked towards them slowly, leather boots clopping loudly with every step and beady eyes never leaving their faces. He predictably stopped in front of their desk. "My name is Igor Karkaroff. You may call me Headmaster Karkaroff." He paused and looked down his nose at them, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. "My school does not allow mud bloods study with us. We are a school exclusive to those who have had magic in their blood for centuries. Yet here you two are."

Bakura met the headmaster's gaze steadily. "I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with your terminology. Mudblood?"

"A person like you who does not have family members immersed in magic." Igor scoffed. "A pathetic whelp who has somehow been blessed with our gift."

Bakura straightened as if he had been slapped before shoving his chair back and standing, his muscular frame easily overwhelming over the snide headmaster. "My name is Bakura. I _never_ let people speak in such a degrading manner to me." He hissed, his eyes narrowing maliciously. "I am a spirit from Egypt. And I was, _am_, a first generation shadow mage…. I was _born_ thousands of years before this prestigious magic school of yours was even built. So do not tell _me_ that _I _am not worthy of your infantile school."

Igor managed to fight his overpowering aura for a moment, but eventually had to turn his decrying stare to the arrogantly smirking Marik. Bakura sat down and leaned his head on his hand, seemingly bored after the battle of wills.

The blond yami leaned back in his chair, before disrespectfully placing his feet on the table. "Don't look at me like that, _Headmaster_. My family has been practicing shadow magic since when it first began in Egypt. We merely faded into the background to keep people like _you_ out of our lives." He sniffled dramatically. "Everyone in my family has strange eye-colors as a property of the shadow magic in our blood."

Igor nodded curtly. "Very well then. I suppose that will have to do." He stalked back to the front of the classroom and raised his wand. "Today we will be learning about the cursed fire spell." He sighed. "Headmaster Dumbledore requested that I do not do this, but I believe that it is a necessary spell for every wizard's education!" He pointed to a potted plant with his wand. "Vomica incendia" The plant and the pot flared brightly for a moment, before collapsing into a smoking pile of ash. The flames stayed in place, even without anything to burn. "This spell can only be stopped with the Aguementa charm or Finite Incantem." The fire extinguished with a pathetic burp of smoke as he whispered a charm. "Mister Bakura, Mister Ishtar, do you have any questions?"

Marik was leaning forwards in his seat in excitement, idea of being disrespectful thrown completely out of his mind at the sight of the deadly flame. "Would it eventually go out on its own, or does it continue burning?"

"It would burn until the end of time. But the longer it burns, it begins to shift into fiery animals that would attack any moving thing." Igor explained.

Bakura blinked thoughtfully. "How do wands work?"

"Mister Bakura, may I answer that after class? These are seventh year students in here; they learned about that at home or in their first year." The headmaster ordered.

"Fine." Bakura agreed, before running his fingers through his hair. "How long does it take for the animals to form?"

Igor shrugged. "Approximately 23 hours, 42 minutes, and 17 seconds. Remember, this is not ordinary fire, so it behaves differently under different situations. What is it, Erik?"

"What sort of animals does it turn into?"

"Chimeras, dragons, serpents, birds of prey, deadly flying creatures like that."

As the lesson continued, Bakura began to tune out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the excited glow in even Marik's eye dimming. There was only so much charm a cursed flame could hold over two homicidal shadow mages. And it was slipping fast. Marik pulled the Millennium rod from his belt loop and began to stroke it, eyebrows narrowed in concentration. He was obviously weighing the pros and cons of brain-washing the headmaster of a wizarding school. Or it was just a force of habit. Several more strokes passed before a small sigh escaped the blonde's lips and the rod was carefully replaced through his belt loops. After another grueling moment of boredom, an idea suddenly sparked brightly in the tomb robber's mind and his hand shot high into the air.

Igor paused. "Yes, Mister Bakura?"

"May I use the bathroom?" He asked quickly, forcing an antsy twitch into his body.

"Make it quick." The headmaster snapped, gesturing to the door.

Bakura bowed his head before using a fast walk to get out of the room. Once the door shut behind him with a loud thud, he let out a chuckle of relief. "That class sucks!" He stuffed his hands in his robe pockets and began to walk down the hallway, a satisfied sway to his step as busy thoughts darted around his mind. "Maybe I should get a red robe again." He glanced down at his black silk robe. "I look like the dorky pharaoh in this."

Marik's eyes narrowed suspiciously as they flitted towards the door once more. It had been fifteen minutes since Bakura had been dismissed, and he had not returned. That meant the tomb robber was either lost, unlikely, or ditching class. That was a real no-brainer. Sharp violet eyes caught a sudden movement to the left of him, and he turned to glare at the black and gold bag slowly melting into a portal of shadows. A technique with the shadows that only Bakura had managed to master. His hand shot up immediately.

"Yes, Mister Ishtar?" Igor asked.

"May I go to the toilet?" Marik asked as he stood, already anticipating the headmaster's answer.

"No."

The blond froze. "What?"

Igor smirked slyly, crossing his arms. "You may not leave until your friend returns. Hold it." He commanded, before continuing on with the lesson.

Marik slid back into his seat, banging his head loudly against the table in defeat. The class would never end.

"-tar! Mister Marik Ishtar, wake up!" Cold water poured onto Marik's head in a fat stream.

Marik's head shot up, eyes searching the empty room groggily. "Whu? What's going on?" He slurred, trying to find the rest of the students.

"You fell asleep in my class." Igor explained, lips curled back in distaste.

Violet eyes blinked rapidly, before widening in realization. "Oh…"

"How literate, Mr. Ishtar." Igor walked back over to his make-shift desk and ran his fingers along the ply wood. "You are lucky you are not _my_ student, Mr. Ishtar. You would have been expelled before you began your first dream."

Marik stood up and shook the water out of his hair like a dog, before snatching his schedule from the table. Marik and sleep did not go well together; he needed something important to startle him awake, or he was a brain-dead zombie until his next nap. But little by little, his composure was returning to him. "Sorry." He bowed curtly in front of the man's desk. "I've never gone to school before, and it's hard to focus in class." A frown marred his lips. "Especially when Bakura gets to skip."

"Do you want to be here, Mister Ishtar?" Igor demanded, ignoring the blond yami's apology.

Marik raised his head pompously. "No way in hell. Everything that I need to know, I know already. I don't need my mind cluttered up with your wizarding shit."

"So what do you propose to do, Mister Ishtar? Headmaster Dumbledore strongly believes you should come to our classes." Igor explained, a sour puckering to his lips. "And since Dumbledore is the headmaster of the host school…"

The blond shrugged apathetically. "I'll figure something out. I'm sure Bakura has given up on the class already and will find some way to skip before classes start tomorrow." He sauntered towards the door. "We don't want to waste our time as much as you don't want to waste yours. At least trust me on that."


End file.
